


disc_O

by forcefields



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Body Paint, F/M, M/M, Some Sexual Content/Inferences, bi/poly (maaaybe a lil)!Marcus, shyandaliljealous!Wrench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcefields/pseuds/forcefields
Summary: Of course Sitara chose Disco Night to infiltrate this druglord's club. Like Marcus' headache isn't bad enough already...
Relationships: Marcus Holloway/Wrench
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	disc_O

Eardrums rumbled by sounds threatening insta-tinnitus, Marcus Holloway felt like a sweaty, sad Moses as he parted the glow-painted sea of clubbers. t had to be disco night!

Under any other circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the scene, but the sporadically shifting colours of the strobe lights were only adding to his headache.

And shit, he had a bad headache.

Pressing two fingers to the invisible – transparent – intercom occupying his right ear, Marcus scanned the room. “Sitara, how’s that hub looking?”

“I’m sure it’ll look beautiful,” Sitara mused, “when I get through these bodies.”

“Psh.” It was Marcus’ – and Wrench’s, wherever he’d disappeared to – job to keep an eye out for their target, Elijah Ratt, and his men. Although Josh had assured them no-one knew about this op, you could never be too careful; Josh himself, despite seeing Marcus’ puppy eyes, had bagsied ‘getaway driver’ the second he’d finished debriefing. Typical.

Not that he was mad – not too mad, anyway – at Josh. He should’ve taken a paracetamol or something. Too late for that now.

Huffing a frustrated breath, Marcus narrowly avoided a guy as green as whatever was in his drink before it spilled, nearly over him. “I’ll second that.”

Sitara chuckled into his ear, confident in her role as ‘Designated Hacker’, capitalised, because, y’know, that’s the fun part of the gig. ‘Watchdogs’ is cool and all, sure – until you’re in a club vibrating harder than a…

What had been an entertaining – nonetheless, immature – train of thought was abruptly cut off upon the thinker acknowledging he’d stepped into a trap. Potentially deadly, but at least he was hidden, more or less at the heart of the main dancefloor, full to the brim with neon, dancing bodies. Everywhere he looked, a rainbow lit up his otherwise dark eyes.

“Fuckin’,” Marcus muttered, “ideal.”

There was no point in getting frantic, searching desperately for an exit. He’d have to wait until the beat took its split-second dip, catalysing the crowd to cool just before they went harder.

The floor was shaking with some force. If it weren’t for being tightly bunched in, he was certain he would’ve fallen over. 

Grimacing at the pulse beating about his brain, Marcus swiped a shot off a passing tray, gold against the neon blue hostess leaning precariously into the pit. This was the only time – he swore, the _only_ time – drinking on the job was necessary.

He threw back the – he found to be, nearly choking – tequila as a girl covered in pink paint – hell, actually, her outfit, her hair (wig, or maybe not?) were pink in permanence – approached him, grinning.

__

“Hey!”

He gave her a half-hearted, mostly dazed wave. She continued: “I’m Gabi!”

“Marcus!” he responded, not quite at her shouting volume, but she seemed to get the message.

As he got hers, acknowledging with a sweeping glance why she’d come over. They were the only ones not making out to Lil Jon (surprising turn-on, but fair).

She looped her arms around his neck. The shot glass, he kept warily between his fingers – the last thing he wanted to do was cause a disruption, again (a story for another day… ha). “Wanna join ‘em?”

He wasn’t ashamed to admit it took 0.5 seconds for a decision to be made. I mean, why the hell not? There wasn’t anything better to do (not that he’d checked to see if an escape route had appeared) and Gabi had a pretty, albeit alarmingly bright fuchsia, face.

Marcus brought his mouth down to hers with a little more messiness than he’d have liked. ____. He felt dampness on his cheek as she brushed her thumb across. Well. Shit. What colour? Was he pink now?

He smirked into their exchange and she returned it, slipping her tongue in, too. ___. When they broke apart, her elbows seemed comfortably settled on his shoulders, and he wondered what his chances were of getting a number (going home, unfortunately out of the question). Gabi’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

“Someone’s staring at us,” she ‘whispered’, “and I can’t tell whether he’s into voyeurism or just jealous.”

Instantly, Marcus was alert. Not wanting to look a fool, instead of turning quick on heels and revealing his paranoia to their observer and half the club, he turned Gabi around with a playful edge – provoking from her a giggle – so he stood where she had done.

Yet relief, and a little embarrassment, washed over him before any other emotion. No longer watching them – though surely, he was – Wrench perched at a crowded bar, the symbols in his eyes often shifting to accommodate the several amused by his mask.

Marcus smirked. “I’d say more likely to drag my ass when I head over.” He looked at Gabi, who eyed him inquisitively. “I’ll see you later?”

“You might,” relieving her arms, which fell with a little bounce to her sides, she glanced across the dancefloor before her gaze swivelled back to his, “with somebody else.”

Marcus suppressed what would’ve been a louder – awkward – laugh. “Shit, well,” he smiled as he slowly paced away from her, “don’t expect any less from me.”

Well, there was his answer to a previous question. He wasn’t mad, nah – a little shocked, though? Sure. What could he say? He was out of the loop with hook-up culture. He rubbed his mouth, his chin, smirking like a kid as he approached Wrench.

“Hey,” he declared, grinning, and – gently - slapping a hand on his guy’s shoulder, “there’s my backup!”

“Hey.” The monotonous tone caught him off guard. “You heard from Sitara?”

Something about Wrench was, to say the least, off, and Marcus momentarily lost his reply wondering what was up. This wasn’t about him getting off with Gabi, right? That’d be… weird. 

“Nope,” he said, abruptly finding his words, and gesturing out to the crowd as he continued, “last thing I heard she was stuck between these guys.”

The smallest “ah” escaped Wrench, followed by a louder, “Makes sense. You were pretty busy over there.”

He didn’t know why, but he started blushing like a fool. “Yeah – well – you know how it is -”

“Sitara’s in the hub, managed to get past the rats.” Wrench continued, as if Marcus hadn’t spoken at all (okay, seriously, what?), “We should keep circulating. Don’t want the cameras catching us out.”

“Okay,” Marcus struggled to keep up, both mentally with wherever the hell Wrench was at, and physically with his quick-stepped pace, “you go that way, I go this way?”

“Yup.” __ and he ___.

What’d gotten into him? Marcus hid his frown, though he didn’t doubt the serious look on his face was any better. It didn’t what his face said, though, because Wrench kept his back to him as he crossed a rare space, barren of people.

How could he – How could he possibly be jealous? He didn’t tag him as the sort. Besides, didn’t he have something going with that café chick? It was then Marcus did frown. Now that he considered it, Wrench hadn’t mentioned her in a while.

He didn’t get to ponder very long. A blotch of black suits in his peripheral had Marcus’ head flying elsewhere. Emerging from a back door, these guys didn’t do much to conceal their firearms or intense gazes, perusing the floor, looking for…

_ Shit _ . The hell were Ratt’s guys doing out on the floor?

“Sitara?” Marcus hissed over comms, “The hell’s going on?”

“I see ‘em,” came their Hacker’s immediate response, “guess someone _ratted_ us out.”

Scoffing a chuckle, his gaze moved to his fellow Watchdog, whom had, thankfully, stopped. His back remained, however, irritably turned away. “We’ll stay out of sight. Let us know when you’re on the move.”

Sitara clicked her tongue, the sounds of keyboard clacking a slightly quieter accompaniment. “Gotcha.”

Back to him, unmoving, Marcus took pause before he asked unnecessarily, “Wrench, where you at?”

He turned away just before his teammate turned towards him. He could feel a certain pair of animated eyes on him before an answer came. “On your left. Coming over.”

The distance between them and Ratt’s men wasn’t getting any bigger. “Bad call,” Marcus said quickly, and started down the short case of stairs onto the overwhelmed dancefloor, “we’ll lose ‘em in here. Follow my lead.”

Nestling in his ear, Wrench’s voice released a breathy “right”. Marcus swore he heard him say it in person, too, which’d make sense, they probably had little space between them; for some reason, though, this drove a thrill under his skin.

_ Knock it off, Marcus _ , he scolded himself, _The fuck’s got into you? The_ drink _?_

Submerging into the pit, Marcus took note of several people, lathered in neon, coming around with buckets raised in the air. Useful - Marcus gestured to one of them and ended up with a left hand, blue, and a right hand, green. He hoped this stuff washed out.

“Hey,” and he turned to Wrench as the other man addressed him, the paint abruptly going from ‘Priority Uno’ to a lot lower, “you got a plan to go with this?”

Marcus couldn’t lie; he wasn’t working on it when he decided on the dancefloor, or on his way down. All his thoughts had been focused on the guy facing him, who seemed equally antsy. Fuck. What were they going to do, dance? No - no way – he, at least, would need to be significantly tipsy. Running through options, a marathon of the mind, Gabi eventually emerged. Rather, her parting words to him.

It took Marcus a little longer to consider, purely because, well, sure, he and Wrench were close, but… well, he thought a little more about his current set of thoughts and emotions circling the man, and it didn’t seem like the worst idea, for whatever reason.

“Mask off.”

Wrench’s ‘eyes’ turned into O’s. “What -?”

“Hey, look,” Marcus swiftly followed up, “I’ve seen you unmasked before and Ratt’s guys haven’t. That mask stands out – a lot – and we don’t have guns or an easy escape route.”

For a moment, the other man simply stared at him – as much as one could stare indirectly, of course – and Marcus felt perspiration gather on his forehead. Had he taken it too far?

Cursing abrasively, albeit quietly, Wrench pushed his hood back, reaching for his mask’s clasps. Marcus wondered why he felt so nervous. His heart was beating faster – was it the tequila? Jesus…

The mask came off easily, nonetheless, its user took his time in removing it, the object coming to dangle at his side. Not that Marcus’ attention was there. The familiar face it revealed was much to his interest; it had been a while, although of course, nothing had changed. As had become clear as day from their first meeting, Wrench didn’t think much, if anything, of his appearance behind the mask. To Marcus, on the other hand, well – there was something inherently, surely, lawfully wrong in such an attractive guy hiding his face.

From him, anyway.

His gaze flickered down to Marcus’ dripping fingers. “What now?”

Following a short silence, occupied by the slightest hesitation, Marcus popped the question. “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah,” those eyes sprung up unexpectedly, a beautiful translucent blue that further drove in Marcus this desire-out-of-nowhere, “yeah, man, course I do.”

In that instant, Marcus wanted to do one thing and nothing else ( _nothing else_ , echoed his mind), but shit, he couldn’t just kiss him without warning. The query came out with barely any thought and plenty of nerves. It could’ve been worded a million ways better, but it was out way before he could reconsider. “Wanna make out?”

Wrench’s eyes went nearly as wide as his mask’s animations. A hot flush crossed Marcus’ face. He hadn’t considered what he might look like asking that, after just making out with somebody else.

“Yeah.”

That spun him. With some pause, Marcus repeated Wrench’s answer. “Yeah?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh –”

Whatever he might’ve said next disappeared beneath Wrench’s mouth. And Christ, what a mouth. Soft, and a little chapped (which he liked, to put it one way), Wrench kissed Marcus with the quickest, initial chastity he’d experienced – before delving well into the deep, drowning Marcus in feeling far below thought.

He barely remembered the paint on his hands. He lifted them to find gentle purchase on Wrench’s neck, then collarbones, provoking a shiver that may or may not have got Marcus’ blood rushing one place and-or another. As long as one of them was properly blended in with the mass… and he’d rather it be the person slipping his tongue into his mouth.

Moaning lightly, Marcus ran the paint down the length of Wrench’s arms, starting at his shoulders, ending in a curving hold around the wrists. Goosebumps prickled beneath his fingers as they glided in descent, and if he wasn’t turned on enough as it was, Wrench moaned into their embrace as he switched up his angle, somehow getting deeper. He seemed more experienced than him – and hell, he probably was. Like Marcus cared.

Shit, he could do this forever. Wrench tasted like mint and a little vodka, weird fucking combination, but it was so absolutely him, and he couldn’t get enough.

He didn’t know what the hell had sparked between them, other than it was completely left field and he _loved it_. He loved…

They broke for air at the last possible second, breathing unanticipatedly heavy. Marcus wanted to say something but, as well as the lack of oxygen in his lungs, he was speechless – at least, for the time being, verbally incoherent. He couldn’t think of a damn thing because he was thinking about everything to do with he whose forehead pressed up against his, as Marcus’ fingers drafted through his hair.

Oh, shit.

As subtly as possible, Marcus retracted his hand, slowly parting them (though, honestly, they were the tiniest distance they could be apart). He stole a glimpse at Wrench’s head, suppressing a grimace. Great. Those pale, inexplicably greying blonde locks were stained blue and green. _Intensely_ stained blue and green. Wrench could kill him for that – could - he wasn’t sure how much he treasured that head of hair uncommonly seen.

He wished he could see it more often, wished he could see his guy’s face more often, period. His guy. Yeah. His friend…

If they were still going to call each other that.

The way they held gazes, mutually lost and a little confused, yet in awe and, dare he say, until Sitara triumphantly broke the moment. “Got the files! Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

Marcus took a moment to react – both of them did – the movement of placing two fingers to his earpiece a jagged one, as he produced perhaps the single worst thing he’d ever said in his lifetime, but really, amongst everything else whirling his head about right now (headache not included, ‘cause somehow that troublesome little shit had up and vanished), he was going to quote Cyber Driver sooner or later, “Copy that. On our way out.”

He’d expected the man standing inches opposite to laugh, or make some corny reference in response, but Wrench’s eyes continued to dot about his face, still unsure. Taking it, no, taking _him_ in, Marcus, contrarily, had never felt more certain about something his whole life.

“Hey,” he said, gently grasping Wrench’s left wrist, “you good?”

Wrench took so long to respond, he thought for a moment he’d genuinely brought the man near comatose. What stopped Marcus from trying again, however, was the little smirk that suddenly jumped upon his lips. Wrench spoke in a surprisingly serious tone, though there was an underlying humour and the words themselves caused Marcus to laugh. “Aside from my current state of shock?” He grinned, bowing his head briefly before coming to meet the other man’s eyes again. “I’m good.”

“Alright.”

Then, finally coming around to reality (though he didn’t try for a second to fix himself a serious face), he turned to go, Wrench’s wrist remaining in soft, secure grasp between his fingers. They’d… probably need to talk about this later. Marcus couldn’t hold his smirk; when Wrench reflected a shy version of it, he felt his heart become acrobatic.

Fingers crossed it’d go as smoothly as he was picturing it in his head.

“‘Cause that was the only good thing about this disco.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a random memory of this one episode of Teen Wolf... also, QuaranTime. *Also*, I felt like writing s'more Wrencus! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Hope you have a great day ❤


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